


Back To School

by Kaiyoz



Series: Life Rolls On... The Series [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Adults can be too, Beginnings, Flashbacks to Abuse, Foster System, Gen, Kids can be cruel, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:50:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyoz/pseuds/Kaiyoz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story continues from "Life Rolls On", Clint is Bruce's foster son and this details their ongoing life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In School

Bruce woke up when he felt something off in his home. He didn’t know what but something was wrong. He had put Clint to bed just a while ago after their New Year’s celebration. He sat up and listened, he heard a muffled scream. Clint.

He staggered out of his bedroom and headed straight for Clint’s room. Had someone gotten into the house? Were they trying to take Clint? The door was open and he slid inside, Clint was face down on the bed, squirming in the sheets, he heard another muffled scream. Shaking Clint awake would probably not help right now. He turned on the lights and started saying the boy’s name over and over again.

“Come on, Clint,” Bruce said aloud. “Time to wake up. Clint?” He remembered his own nightmares as a child, most of them about his own father, and how he was just happy to wake up and remember he was gone.

“Clint? Clint. Clint? It’s Bruce, wake up.”

The boy shook his head and shot upright in the bed. “Bruce?”

“Hey, Sprocket. It’s almost four in the morning…”

“Sorry,” Clint whispered, wiping the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his thermal shirt.

Bruce stopped him. “It’s okay, do you want to talk about it?” He already knew the answer.

Clint shook his head.

“Okay, can you sleep? Do you want to watch a movie?”

“A Coke and a movie?” Clint asked, grabbing his blanket and heading to the front room.

“Sure,” Bruce agreed. “Want me to stay with you?”

“You can sleep if you want… but… can you leave your door open?”

“How about this?” Bruce brought his own blanket out and laid down on the corner of a couch, tuning out the sounds of Clint opening a soda and the movie starting as he fell asleep.

When he awoke a few hours later, Clint was busy writing in his journal, carefully drawing each letter as he wrote. Bruce moved a little and let Clint know he was awake.

Clint looked at Bruce out of the corner of his eye before going back to finishing his writing. The older man let himself absorb the early morning silence, relishing the softness of the couch and his blanket. “Did you get any sleep?” Bruce questioned, around a yawn.

The boy shook his head.

“Well, while I make breakfast do you want to take a bit of a nap?” Bruce asked standing up and shaking himself awake.

Clint nodded, closing his journal after a few minutes.

“I’m going to take a shower, then what about a quiche for breakfast? We have some good cheese to finish off.”

He knew Clint had no idea what a quiche was but seemed to trust Bruce’s judgment enough to eat anything he put in front of the boy.

When Bruce came out of the shower, drying his ears out, Clint was curled up in Bruce’s blanket, dead to the world. Bruce smiled fondly and went to quietly start breakfast. The journal was out again, laid on top of the kitchen counter and open.

[[I had a bad dreem. BRuse was gon. They sed i had to go bak to my daddy mama was there to. she was crying daddy was smakin her. They sed I had to stay. Mama went to sleep and daddys smacks weren’t waking her up. So he started smakin me and then blood was comin out of me and i was kwiet and he kept smakin. then I thot I was gonna die but daddy still kept smakin. So I cried and he smaked harder. I didnt die. Then Bruse woke me up.]]

Bruce dreamed for one brief moment about killing Mr. Barton but he was dead and with any luck burning in the deepest recesses of hell.

~*~

A few days after New Years Day, Bruce was getting a reluctant Clint ready for school. Until Bruce had approval for home schooling he would have to take Clint to school. He had convinced the boy to have some fruit filled oatmeal and get dressed but getting him out the door was challenging. Bruce had pleaded with his department head to be allowed to meet with him a little later in the morning, the man had agreed after hearing what Bruce was doing for Clint and the fact that he was still very productive, despite the added strain of a child.

“Please, Bruce,” Clint whined, loose-limbed on the couch. “Please.”

Bruce frowned as he closed Clint’s new lunch box, Clint was never eating another school lunch as far as he was concerned. “You have to go, Clint. Get your backpack.”

Clint looked longingly at the fire escape but pulled himself to his feet and dragged his feet to the car. The fight really began when they got out of the car at school. Bruce escorted Clint to his classroom and met the teacher at the door. He explained the new situation and Bruce asked to be kept informed of everything going on.

Clint was oddly clingy through the whole conversation, staying pressed to Bruce’s side, his body rigid and turned away from the other kids entering the room.

“Okay, I need to get home.” He took Clint’s face in his hands. “I’ll be back at 2:30. Meet me outside the gate. Do not… and I repeat… do not go try to find me. Do not go with a stranger. Don’t try walking. No buses. If I’m late I’ll meet you in the office. Be at the gate at 2:30.”

The blonde nodded, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s middle and burying his face in his chest. “Please,” he heard whispered.

Bruce had been mentally preparing himself for this reaction. He gave Clint a long hug, rubbing his back and trying to convey all the reassurance he could. He imagined this class was not a class for the emotionally stunted and socially phobic.

“You’ll be fine. I’m going to be here at 2:30. Eat all of your lunch.” Clint nodded but didn’t release him. “I love you very, very much… Can you go inside for me?” The boy shook his head.

“Okay,” he took each of Clint’s wrists and gently pushed him away, folding his arms to his chest and crouching to his level. The younger man was crying but not making a noise. Bruce felt like a horrible person but knew it was for the best. Clint needed to be able to separate.

“You’ll be okay here. Be at the gate at 2:30,” he reminded one more time. He went to step away and Clint followed. He stopped and firmly told Clint to stay at the classroom. One the class assistants stepped out and went to put a restraining hand on Clint’s shoulder.

Bruce stopped him. “I can handle this.” Clint would only freak out if someone was holding him back. “Stay here, Clint,” he reaffirmed before stepping away. Clint stayed, his head bowed while Bruce walked briskly away. He gave Clint a little wave when the boy looked up. If Bruce sat in the school parking lot for twenty minutes, nobody was the wiser.

~*~

Clint watched until Bruce’s feet disappeared from his vision and then looked up to watch his back disappear around a corner, he felt tears form again when Bruce waved. He tried to be logical, he really tried, but he felt as if Bruce was dumping him off. He wanted to go home.

Soon enough the teacher beckoned him in and he took a seat as class started. He stayed silent through class and kept to himself at recess. He couldn’t help his smile when he opened his backpack and saw the coloring pencils and sketch pad, both Christmas presents. He set them out and carefully began sketching the school as he sat pressed against the wall outside his room.

Mr. Allen walked down the overhang and Clint pretended to be frozen in rock as the older man crouched beside him. “That’s a really nice set you have there… did you get it for Christmas?”

He nodded but continued drawing, his eyes carefully watching Mr. Allen’s movements. “I heard you were placed back with your foster dad.”

He didn’t respond. “If you ever need to talk, Clint, you know where I am.”

The boy didn’t say anything as Mr. Allen disappeared.

At lunch, he took his seat at the far end of the table and opened his lunch. Bruce had sent him with a reusable bottle of water but he didn’t know what else he had packed.

Inside there was a short note. ‘Be great and I will see you at 2:30. <3 Bruce. PS: Eat!’ He smiled at the note, he’d seen kids get notes on TV but never gotten a note himself. He stuffed it in his pocket and looked in his lunch. It was cold chicken pasta, a mix of fruit, and a carefully wrapped Oreo.

He ate it all and he started to believe that Bruce was coming to pick him up.

When 2:30 rolled around he walked with the aide that waited with the “pick-up” kids. He wasn’t disappointed when Bruce’s little car was waiting for him. He ran to the car and slid inside to get out of the bitter cold.

“Bruce!” He leaned over to hug the older man without a thought, smiling when Bruce hugged him back.

“Did you have a good day?” the older man questioned.

Clint shrugged as he buckled himself in. “Words,” Bruce reminded as he started the car.

“It was fine. I got to draw with my new stuff at recess.”

Bruce nodded. “Did you like lunch?”

Clint nodded, but added, “It was good. I liked the Oreo best.”

Bruce laughed, “Of course, you did. That was much healthier than what your school cafeteria was feeding you.”

“Cafeteria lunch is good!” Clint argued with a little grin. This was the most smart aleck Clint had ever been and Bruce was going to run with it.

“It was greasy!” he argued back with a smile.

“Greasy and delicious!”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “And smelly.”


	2. Tough

At dinner, Bruce made them spaghetti plus plenty of extras for lunch over the next few days. Clint liked cold spaghetti.

Homework time was tough for Clint. Bruce helped him as much as he could but the work was beyond Clint’s level but he was done with the math in no time.

He helped Clint through his English homework, they were meant to write a summary of a history article. Bruce had read it to him and then tried to show Clint how to summarize. He’d ended up verbally helping Clint come up with sentences. When it had come time for Clint to write his spelling words in ABC order he had been working over two hours and he decided enough was enough. He wrote them in ABC order for Clint and had him copy them.

Bath time came and Clint was in and out of the tub without an argument. He was shirtless when he scampered to Bruce’s side for his pre-bed cup of hot chocolate, made with the good cocoa, cream, and sugar, lots of calories for a still growing boy.

It was the first time he had been able to see Clint without his shirt in a while. The molted bruise from when he had been whipped by the circus cable was long gone. Left behind were a few jagged scars, old burns, and odd dents, scars of missing flesh, across his chest, back and arms. One lone scar ran straight from his lower back to disappear into his pants. He wiped any pity or sadness for his boy from his face while Clint sipped his cocoa.

He finished his own work as Clint went to bed.

This parenting thing was not for weenies.

* * *

 

The week was productive for both Clint and Bruce. Bruce was able to finish his assignment early and Clint got a good report from school. Bruce was pleased to find out that the teacher understood that Clint finishing all the homework was nearly an impossible task and that she would give leeway for his ability.

He had also managed to find a good homeschool program for Clint. He had submitted the paperwork for review to his social worker and it would have to go through all the proper channels.

It really was the best avenue for Clint he had determined after talking to the people at the homeschooling office. He would have plenty of support and opportunities to take Clint out and socialize but at the same time allow him to catch up academically. He would still have to take the standard tests and be assessed monthly to be permitted in the program but it would at least show Clint’s growth.

They would also be allowed to do remote work if Bruce had to travel, like he would need to in the summer. Clint would not be allowed to have a break during the summer. He needed too much to catch up to be able to take a two-month break.

The next meeting with the therapist was enlightening to Bruce, he brought along a paper and pencil so that he could keep track of Clint’s visits with the doctor. He was starting to accumulate records of visits with the surgeon, doctor, school incidents, home incidents, therapist visits, and more. He wanted to have every record he could of Clint’s care.

The therapist had asked Clint to wait in the next room; the boy had balked but went outside when Bruce gave him his wallet and a clear view of Bruce while he spoke to the doctor.

“This right here, is what I’m worried about. You are his only source of affection and he is terrified you’ll be taken away. He’s certainly had a breakthrough. He allows you to touch him, hug him on occasion, but he is not ready for others, understandably. I beg you to continue as you have, slowly working into a relationship where he trusts you to touch him without warning. Right now, he shows early signs of touch deprivation. I’m not sure how frequent hugs, kisses, and cuddles would’ve been when he was with his biological parents or in the orphanage. Your thoughts?”

Bruce scribbled some notes on his pad before looking up. “I’m not a therapist but I’ve read a little… it does worry me that he’s so dependent but right now I want to cultivate that. I want to cultivate that trust and love. I think it’s the best way to teach him that I’m someone he can rely on.”

The other man nodded. “He’s a child, Dr. Banner. I want him dependent. I think he’s been independent too long. He needs affection. He didn’t appear to get much from his brother and he could very easily be swayed towards anyone that showed him kindness. We are just fortunate to have caught him before he fell in with the wrong crowd. It does worry me in that you could kick him down the stairs and he would somehow blame that on himself or believe that he deserved it. He needs to be taught the difference between abuse and attention. I hope you can do that.”

Bruce gave him a smile, “I’m going to do my best.”

Two weeks into the new school year, the morning had started well, Clint had gotten off to school without a peep. Apparently they were having a game day at school and they were going to play basketball in the gym. He had had a meeting with the department heads. They commended him for his work and listened to him and his latest ideas for research. They were pushing for him to publish within the next few months.

He was now in the university math lab running some of the numbers for his latest theories. In strolled a man about his own age, dressed to the nines in a suit and tie, his hair slicked back, and he was obviously tipsy. He was speaking too loudly to the group of titling women and sour faced university representatives.

A student or a donor? Bruce half-wondered as he kept running his numbers.

He ignored them as they wandered around the math lab. The sound irritated him and he was forcibly trying to ignore them. The man stopped behind Bruce, going silent and Bruce relaxed hoping he realized that he was actually trying to work. After a few minutes he assumed the group had left when he heard a “go away” behind him.

“You’re working in gamma radiation?” the loud man asked. “And this…” he gestured wildly at his other work board, something he was just working on idly. “This is antielectron collision. Early research right?”

Bruce nodded, going back to his notes. Hopefully the man would figure out he didn’t want his input.

The man sat down on Bruce’s desk, Bruce held his temper with an iron fist. Who in their right mind sat ON someone else’s desk? “This is… well, yeah. You’re what, 20? Undergrad?”

“I’m 22 and I have my doctorate, I’m trying to work this out and this is a no noise workroom. They’ll kick you out.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they won’t be doing that. This is some cool shit, where are you working?”

“I work here, please, lower your voice. I have a job and there are standards,” he muttered darkly, looking the dark haired man in the eye briefly.

He grunted and shuffled his way further onto the desk. “Interesting… except it’s not. I’m always looking for new people. You in?”

Bruce looked around and hoped the monitors weren’t going to come kick them out. “I’m a researcher. They might not kick you out but they will boot me.”

He held his hand out. “I don’t think so, I’m Tony…”

“Dr. Banner, a call for you,” one of the monitors said from across the room. “It’s urgent.”

Bruce dropped his papers and walked away without a backward glance. He picked up the phone and listened.

“Dr. Banner, this is Lisa calling from Liberty School. First off, Clint is fine but he was in a bit of a collision today with another boy. They ran into each other during basketball and Clint was knocked down. The other boy was pretty big and when he fell his head hit the ground pretty hard. The nurse checked him over and says he’s fine but he is very upset and has a good bump on his head. The principal would like to know if you could pick him up early?”

Bruce was already mentally grabbing his bag. “Of course, I’ll be there in fifteen. Can I talk to him?”

“Of course.” There was some rustling on the line and he heard the secretary say, “Clint? It’s your dad.” He smiled at the title.

“Bruce?” he heard Clint’s wavering voice.

“Hey, Sprocket. I heard you took a good knock on the head. I’m going to be there in twenty minutes to pick you up. Okay?”

He heard the phone move but prompted, “Words?”

“’Kay,” Clint sobbed.

“I want you to take three deep breaths, okay?” He made Clint take some breaths to calm down before hanging up and going back to his lab station. He ignored the Stark Industries pen that had been discarded on his desk, it wasn’t his, and he dashed for the door.

When he got to the school he rushed inside to find a still panicked Clint next to one of the assistant teachers and another teacher was trying to calm him down.

“Clint?” Before he could get another word out he was hit by the nearly sixty-pound boy in the stomach. He lifted Clint up without a second thought, letting him pillow his head on his shoulder. He was a bit too big to hold but he was unsettled enough to let it go. He used the arm he wasn’t using to hold Clint up to feel the back of his head. The lump was larger than he had expected.

The teacher pushed an ice pack into his hand. “We have his homework and his backpack up here for you.”

“Before we go, I want to know more about what happened,” Bruce insisted. The nurse reassured him that Clint was fine but to be sure to keep an eye on him in case anything happened. Then Bruce turned to the teacher.

The teacher sighed. “I’m Mr. Bryant. I was supervising. Clint had been, well to be honest, showing up the sixth grade in basketball. He’s really very good. Once he develops a bit of muscle, he’s going to be a serious… anyway. Another boy was playing rougher than he should’ve and he went to block Clint. Clint was looking at the hoop and they collided hard. Clint went down hard, his head made a pretty solid ‘thunk’ when it hit the ground. I’m really sorry. The other boy is getting a detention and will be put on notice for hitting him. Clint is pretty upset and I can’t figure out why. I think it just startled him really badly. I was really proud of how he got out there though; I’ve never seen him step out like that. He’s actually, really, very good. I would like to talk to him about the basketball team.”

Bruce nodded. “If Clint says something different happened, I will need to talk to the principal tomorrow. Thank you for taking care of him.”

Bruce set Clint back on his feet. Mr. Bryant stepped forward and leaned down to Clint’s level, ignoring the way the boy burrowed into Bruce’s side. “You did really well, Clint. I hope you feel better soon, all right?”

“Say “okay,” Clint,” Bruce urged.

A “’Kay,” was sniffled out from beneath his arm.

“Thank you,” Bruce bowed out of the office and maneuvered Clint until they got him to their car.


	3. Better

In the car he double-checked that the ice pack was firmly against Clint’s head before carefully driving towards home.

“How are you feeling?” he asked once he had pulled into the parking garage. 

Clint shrugged. “Better, but my head still hurts.”

Bruce coaxed him upstairs and onto the couch in their apartment while he buzzed around looking for washcloths. He carefully sat himself down at Clint’s head with a few cool cloths.

“Okay, I want to try something with you and I know it’s a bit weird but I think you’re really tense right now. It’s just some breathing exercises.”

Clint blinked up at him, using his other hand to wipe away his sweat. “Okay,” the boy answered skeptically. 

Bruce grabbed a cool washcloth and laid it on his forehead. “So, what I want you to do is close your eyes and take a deep breath and hold it.” He waited for Clint to follow his directions before continuing.

“Now let out all the air, and take another deep breath. Now let that one out. And another breath… and let it out. Now I want you to think of being in a meadow with nothing around you.”

“What’s a meadow?”

Bruce smiled. “A big grassy area… It’s nice and cool outside and there’s a breeze in the air.” He rhythmically ran his hands over Clint’s head, brushing his hair back. He felt the boy start to wake up again. “Take another deep breath and… let it out.”

“I want you to imagine you’re in your favorite place… where’s that?”

“Up in the wires of the tent or on the platform,” Clint answered automatically.

Bruce stored the information away. “Okay, so you’re high in the air and no one’s around. I want you to imagine you’re laying on the platform and you’re slowly relaxing into the ground. First is your feet… then your calves and knees… next is your legs and hips. Can you feel your body unclenching?” He didn’t wait for Clint to answer.

“Your back is relaxing and sinking, then your chest and your shoulders. Then it spreads to your biceps… your elbows… your forearm… now your wrists and it spreads to your palm. Each finger should be relaxed and letting go. Now your neck is relaxing and so is your jaw and the rest of your face.” He kept his hands soothing over Clint’s hair, letting the boy relax beneath his hands.

Clint’s eyes cracked opened after a moment and he drowsily looked up at Bruce.

“Thanks,” Clint said as he nodded off.

Bruce picked up the house quickly, starting to get used to the mess that came with a home and a little boy. He wrote a quick note on the whiteboard and ran downstairs to start laundry while Clint was sleeping.

He made dinner and packed Clint’s lunch for tomorrow. He briefly brushed Clint’s forehead, blue eyes cracking open before he smiled and went back to sleep.

Dropping Clint off the next morning at school was harder than he expected. The boy was slow to leave the car and visibly upset.

“Write in your journal,” Bruce told him, before turning the car on and driving away.

He drove straight to the home-schooling charter school office to see if they had sample materials while he waited for approval.

 

* * *

 

In the afternoon, he picked up two small milkshakes, a rare treat, and went to pick up Clint. He was surprised when he didn’t immediately see Clint at the front of the school and panicked a bit. He parked his car and walked towards the entrance of the school.

He veered towards Clint’s room but smiled when he saw Clint out in the Kindergarten play area. He was playing with a small girl waiting in the yard, rolling a ball between them.

A half-second later the girl’s mom came and left, Clint then faithfully turned to picking up toys and putting them in a bucket and the teacher quietly helped him pick things up, thanking him profusely.

“Bruce!” Clint said when he saw Bruce out of the corner of his eye. He looked between the teacher and Bruce before putting his armful of toys into the bucket and dashing towards Bruce at high speed, the teacher a few steps behind him.

“Sorry!” Clint apologized immediately. “I was… There… The kid was by herself and…”

“No worries,” Bruce reassured him. He carefully took Clint into a hug; he was hoping the boy would start to adjust to the touch. “I came to find you and I’m sure the little girl appreciated having a playmate.”

The teacher waved at Bruce. “Sorry, my kinder was lonely and Clint was nice enough to stand with her while she waited. He’s a great little helper.”

Bruce smiled back. “No problem. I’m glad he was helpful.”

They turned and walked back to the car and Bruce handed Clint his milkshake. “We have to go to the doctor today so I thought you might like a milkshake.”

“Regular doctors?” Clint asked, grabbing Bruce’s jacket.

“Yes.”

They were checked in at the doctor's office and Clint watched TV silently while other kids buzzed around the floor, playing with the toys and battling with magazines. He felt Clint’s hand tighten around his forearm when the nurse stepped out. “Clint Barton?”

They stood together and Bruce towed Clint towards the waiting nurse. “Hi! Clint, is it? So nice to meet you.”

Clint nodded mutely, Bruce’s gentle poke made his mouth fall open. “Nice t’ meet you.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve seen another doctor for surgery but this is your first time with us. I’ll have you hop up on the scale here.”

Clint stepped onto the scale and was measured for his height before being gestured to continue towards the exam room. Clint stayed on Bruce’s heels, unwilling to allow him away. Clint sat up on the paper table when directed.

“And this is accurate? He’s 11?” she asked, a frown making her eyebrows pinch together.

“Yes, um, you should probably read under his special circumstances. I’m fostering him and he wasn’t in an a great situation before.”

She nodded. “Is he on any medications? Allergic to any medications?”

“No and not that I know of,” Bruce answered.

The woman pulled out a gown and held it out to Bruce. “He needs to change into this, he can leave his underwear on.”

She scribbled on her chart for his second before taking his temperature and his blood pressure. “The doctor will be in shortly.”

Clint disappeared behind a screened off area only after he asked Bruce to stay. He stepped out a minute later holding the back of it together and asking Bruce to tie it closed.

The doctor was there after a long wait.

“Hi, Clint,” the doctor said, coming in loud and smiling. Clint pulled away before the doctor had a chance to touch him.

The man immediately changed his demeanor and sat down on his rolling chair. “I’m Dr. Stephens. How are you feeling today?” he asked, a little quieter.

“Fine,” Clint answered.

He nodded, looking at the chart. “And this is Mr. Banner? How are you related?”

“He’s a doctor too. He’s my foster-er.”

The man’s face broke into a grin. “A foster-er that doctor-ers?”

Clint smiled, though he tried to hide it. “Science doctor, not a people doctor.”

“Mm… interesting. He’s probably loads smarter than me then. Is it all right if I come a little closer? I wanted to get a look at you.”

The blonde nodded, but kept his gaze locked onto the doctor and his movements as he rolled forward.

He gently picked up one of Clint’s arms and examined the once-injured appendage. He ran hands down either of Clint’s arms.

“I’m going to pull the gown down, so we can get a listen at your heart. You don’t have to do anything. ”

The older man stood and placed the cold stethoscope at Clint’s chest before running it to different spots. The boy breathed deep a few times at the doctor’s orders.

Clint stiffened noticeably when the doctor stepped even closer and put the cold metal to his back, Bruce was standing before he could stop himself. Clint pulled away from the doctor, reaching towards Bruce even as Bruce was stepping forward.

“You’re okay,” Bruce reminded Clint, not grabbing the boy like he wanted and instead soothing him back to the paper-covered table.

The doctor hadn’t stepped away but instead removed his hands until Clint was settled again. “Why doesn’t Dr. Banner take a seat beside you while we work?”

Bruce hopped up on the table beside Clint and kept one hand on top of Clint’s, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles.

Bruce noted that Clint did not like people leaning over him; he was tense and unhappy but staying still. The doctor had Clint sit this way and that, taking a long look at the scarring on his back and across his arms.

“Do you feel pain anywhere, Clint?”

The blonde shook his head.

”I’m going to prescribe some scar eraser to help with his skin, especially on his arms. Clint, I’m going to have you stand and show me your back for a minute.”

Clint, with nudging from Bruce, stood and allowed the doctor to untie his gown and examine his back. Quietly he retied the gown and gestured Clint back to the table.

“His skin isn’t really tight but he should stretch a little everyday, just to make sure the skin is a bit more elastic. He has one hypertrophic scar along his ribs that I just want to make sure gets more flexible. We’ll want to make sure his skin is ready to go once he starts to fill out and gain some height.”

Bruce nodded, filing it all away in his head. The doctor examined Clint’s legs, including his heavily scarred knees. He checked Clint’s glands and then sat back with a smile.

“Well, great job both of you. Clint, you are in in much better health and putting on weight. You keep this up and soon you’re going to start getting some height. My goal for you is to weigh to be up to sixty-five pounds by next month. I want you to do it healthily though. That’s only eight pounds from now.” He patted Clint on the shoulder and stood.

“Okay, after a quick blood draw you’ll be able to get dressed and get out of here.” Clint was fortunately not scared of needles and besides a hiss said nothing about the needle pressed into his vein.

The blonde was dressed in a flash and walking behind Bruce towards the exit.

He made dinner and packed Clint’s lunch for tomorrow before staggering off to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on Tony Stark: Most of you have commented in excitement that Tony is coming in. He is not. I just always found it questionable that they went to the same school and were geniuses and never met. He will not be a regular character, that is not to say he won't come back. I promise the fic will still be good without him. :)


	4. Parent Meet Teachers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Biting. Not bloody or anything but I just want to cover my bases.

When he picked Clint up the next day from school the boy was oddly quiet, distressed, and clutching a white envelope. He drove towards their home, hoping Clint would come back from wherever he was at enough to explain to him the situation.

“What’s wrong, Sprocket? Did you like lunch?” He’d made the boy pesto tortellini, it was not something he’d made yet, but he hadn’t thought the boy would outright reject it. 

Clint shook his head, struggling to talk. He wiped at his eyes, his mouth opened a few times, before he bowed his head and buried his face in his knees breathing hard. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bruce said gently, pulling into their parking spot. He went to the other side of the car. When he opened the door though, Clint launched himself to the driver’s side, opening the door and scrambling through. Bruce slammed the door and just managed to make it around the back of the car to catch Clint near the trunk. 

He knew it was a bad idea to grab the boy but couldn’t let Clint run in this situation; he might run into the road or be kidnapped. He wrapped Clint in his arms and held on to the struggling boy, trying not to crush but trap. He received a head butt and nip on the bicep but didn’t let go. 

“Shh… shh… you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Whatever it is, you’ll be okay. Shh…” he soothed over and over. “You’re okay, Sprocket, just fine. I’m not mad and I’m not going to be mad. It’s okay.”

He used Clint’s own mantra unconsciously, hoping it would soothe the boy. Clint kicked with his legs and screamed once, he turned his face into Bruce’s shoulder, biting him again but this time Bruce sensed it wasn’t fear but frustration. It probably wouldn’t even bruise.

“You’re okay.” Clint finally went limp in his arms, gasping for air. 

Of course by this point the neighbors were gathered and watching the spectacle they were making of themselves. He kept an arm around Clint but shot a reluctant smile to their viewers. 

“Sorry, everybody, nothing to see here.” He waved and walked Clint to their elevator. 

Once the door was shut behind them and Bruce had the lock on, his eyes on the fire escape he finally asked what that had been about.

Clint held out one shaky hand, the crumpled envelope clutched in his fingers. He slowly uncurled them before taking a few steps away. The envelope lay between them like a bomb Clint expected to go off. 

“An envelope?” He picked it up and turned it over. It read ‘To the Parents of Clint Barton.’ He opened up the envelope and drew out the folded pieces of paper. The blonde boy went over to the couch and curled up on it. 

It was to call a meeting about Clint’s further education and behavioral steps. It told him that Clint was not in trouble but they had to do a meeting to talk about things they were setting up for him. It was an Individual Educational Plan meeting. 

“Clint? You’re not in trouble. They just want to talk to me about what you’re doing in school. Everyone has to do this. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The blonde looked skeptical but sat closer. Bruce pointed towards the words on the paper that said they were meeting to discuss what he needed to do academically and behaviorally.

Clint’s mouth worked a few times, looking like a goldfish, before he had the words summoned to speak. “Not in trouble?” he choked out.

Bruce shook his head. “Nope. We’re going to go talk to the teachers. You haven’t been bad at school. The teachers say you are doing really good when I pick you up.”

He shrugged, looking helplessly at his fingers. “No trouble,” he mumbled to himself. 

“Do you want to tell me why you panicked?”

Clint shook his head, still looking at his fingers. 

“Then I need you to go write about it. You don’t have to show me.” Clint nodded and dragged himself to find his journal, curling up quietly on the couch to write. 

Bruce finished his latest calculations on his whiteboard and an hour later rolled his whiteboard to the side before starting dinner. 

He was cooking up the chicken and waiting for the rice to finish when Clint came in, his journal clutched in his hands. He pushed the book into Bruce’s side and let it go when Bruce took it. The boy climbed up and sat on the counter while Bruce stirred. 

“Can you grab the cornstarch? Yellow container, right there? Then get the green beans out for me.” Bruce didn’t flinch when Clint stood on the counter and grabbed it. He directed Clint around the kitchen while he cooked, hoping the boy would relax. 

Clint’s half-birthday was coming up very soon and Bruce was looking forward to doing a little something for him. 

Before he went to bed that night he read Clint’s journal entry, hoping he was doing the right thing. Part of him thought Clint should be allowed to keep this to himself. He still cracked the book and found Clint’s latest entry. 

[So Bruse says i gotta rite again. I thot he was goin to be mad today but he wasnt. I got a note from school about stuff and he wasnt mad that he has to meet with teechers. Then I was scaird bruse goin to be mad. i got in the car and i was sad i dont want to be yeled at. I was really sadder. then i tryed to run away but bruse got me. Then he sed evereone has to meet with teechrs and im not in trubl. Im ok.]

He smiled, though he needed to show Clint how to write his name but his writing was also improving dramatically. 

A few days later Bruce showed up to the meeting with the staff in the morning, Clint was sitting beside him, looking tiny in the adult sized chair. Bruce rubbed his back when the teachers stepped into the room, followed by the principal and the resource specialist. 

“Well, good morning, Mr. Banner and Clint, how is your morning so far?”

Bruce smiled back. “Pretty good. Clint?”

“I’m okay,” he said with a jostle. 

“Excellent, excellent. I am Mrs. Brisby and I’ll be in lead but this is an conversation,” the principal said, leaning over her folder. 

“So we are meeting today to discuss Clint’s progress in school. We need to state outright that you can always have a second opinion on anything we discuss. We want this to be a discussion and anything you want to talk about further you have only to ask. We will have two of these meetings a year to address any concerns.”

Bruce nodded and gestured at her to continue. “We’ll let Mr. Bryan speak first, he’s here as a representative of Clint’s behavior in a mainstream classroom environment.”

The man cleared his throat before starting. “Clint has a remarkable memory and is well behaved in class. He’s a kind student and he doesn’t disrupt or cause issues in class or on the playground. His anxiety from day one until this month has shown improvement but it does make me nervous that he’s not progressing fast enough. Academically, while in my class, he stepped up to the plate; he tried and that’s what matters to me. He could’ve easily just rolled over and given up but he tried. I could see he would get very upset when met with conflict or his lack of mastery in subject. He is well behind his classmates, closer to a first grade level in most subjects. He has a knack for remembering and processing at a high rate. I’m quite pleased with him as a student.”

Mrs. Brisby nodded and pointed to the Emotionally Disturbed teacher, Ms. Gio. She pretty much reiterated what Mr. Bryan had seen and she was very pleased. “He is a dream to teach. A sponge. He wants to learn and tries very hard. He does get very nervous in groups and doesn’t play at recess. He keeps to himself and I do worry about his social skills. We do have social skill lessons but getting him to participate can be challenging.”

Bruce noticed the way Clint shrunk in on himself but stayed silent. 

The resource teacher chimed in now. “I agree, a dream to teach. A sweet kid. He listens and replicates. He has a remarkable memory and amazing problem solving skills. We tested his aptitude to see patterns and his IQ, both are fairly high. When he catches up, he will be nothing short of astounding. He was shy at first but has warmed up a bit.”

“I’d like to keep him in our class for now but maybe have him join Mr. Bryan’s class for math. I think an independent subject like math, that allows him to work beside kids rather than with them will give him time to accumulate social skills and give him time to adjust,” his current teacher added. 

“Can we all agree to these changes?” the principal asked. 

Bruce stopped them. “What do you think Clint? Do you want to go do math in Mr. Bryan’s class?”

Clint looked at Bruce, his eyes roved over the gathered teachers, and looked back at Bruce. He shook his head.

“Why?”

Clint shrugged and Bruce poked him in the knee. “Those kids hit me,” he whispered. 

Mr. Bryan sat forward now, “When did they hit you?”

The blonde could feel his jaw lock up but he stuttered out, “Before… when Bruce came to the school… last year.”

“Right before you ran away?” Bruce questioned. 

Clint nodded. “Did they say something to you?”

“Called me retarded, I know I am but they were pushing and yelling.” Clint was staring resolutely at his shoes. 

The counselor instantly frowned, a look of skepticism crossed his face and Bruce got pissed. 

“I think you would’ve said something before if those boys had done this,” the counselor said, stroking his mustache.

The principal chimed in, “Which boys Clint? You need to tell us these things. Do you know their names?”

Clint shook his head, breathing hard. 

“All right, stop,” Clint’s ED teacher, said, ending the questioning. “Let’s move on to other topics.”

“It’s better that it’s sorted now,” the counselor continued. 

Mr. Bryan put a hand in the middle of the table. “Stop. Clint’s not happy. We can finish this later.” 

Bruce held onto his temper by his fingernails and resisted the urge to pull Clint into his space. He was feeling particularly protective with all these strangers interrogating his kid. 

He looked over at Clint. “If they promise to keep those mean kids away will you go to Mr. Bryan’s for math?”

Clint looked at Bruce trustingly and nodded his head, “Yeah.”

“If those kids are mean you need to tell me, Mr. Bryan, or Ms. Gio.” Bruce reaffirmed. “If you can’t say it, you can write a note. Do you understand?”

Clint nodded. 

“Are we done? Can we go?” Clint whispered, though the room of teachers could hear him. 

“Not yet,” Ms. Gio answered calmly. “We just need to sign some papers and finish a few things.”

Papers were pushed around the table and Clint stayed quiet while they discussed his visits to the counselor and the possibility of needing to go to a speech therapist. 

“We can have him tested for speech next week, he’ll continue as he has but be mainstreamed for math four days a week or whenever Ms. Gio sees fit. We also will look into students bullying him on campus.”

They all stood and even Clint shook hands before darting out to the bench outside the office, he was breathing hard when Bruce caught up to him. Bruce was just happy Clint hadn’t vomited. 

“You know what?” Bruce asked conversationally. “Today is your half-birthday… When I was growing up my mom would take me out of school for “mental health” days. I think we are having one of those today. If anyone asks, you’re sick.”

Bruce walked back into the office and checked Clint out of school, saying he was sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a reminder that you ALWAYS explain to a kid that they are "not in trouble" when you send an envelope home. It's a small thing but usually good things don't go home.


	5. Day Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case any are wondering about my less than frequent posts, I was FINALLY offered a full-time position at my ideal grade level in a new school, which means I needed to dismantle my old classroom while setting up a new one and simultaneously preparing for my replacement and my take over of the new room. Over the past EIGHT days I've been in my room, I've been literally working my butt off (I've lost three pounds). If anyone knows about teaching you have to have "walls" to match district standards, required postings, backings, etc. To add to that I've had to do ALL the beginning of the year testing and so on because the substitute in there was too lazy to give or grade a test. So in the space of eighteen days I've had to rearrange my entire career so I apologize for my lack of updates. My kids are great and I'm very happy to be where I'm at today. Parent Teacher Conferences are coming up now, as are a bunch of professional development "opportunities" so I will be an infrequent updater until my room is "finished". Please bear with me, I am still writing because it's cathartic but posting is not a high priority.

He had the day off of work and so took Clint to Denny’s, first he carefully scouted the parking lot, it was fairly empty. Any nicer restaurant, with a healthier menu, would’ve had a breakfast rush. He sat Clint on the inside of the booth, sitting himself beside the boy. Clint could watch out the window or be involved in the restaurant. 

The disinterested waitress handed them menus and took a drink order before wandering away. Clint sipped at his orange juice and stared at the tons of menu choices. 

“What can I have?” Clint finally asked. 

“Whatever you want… Except for anything fried.”

Clint bit his lip and stared at the menu again. “I’m allowed to get my own?”

“Well of course, it’s your half birthday... How did you… eat last time you ate at a restaurant?”

Clint flipped the page before answering. “I ate off of Barney’s plate, Lyila took us sometimes, ‘cause we rode in her trailer. Barney would give me some of his.”

Bruce tried not to feel sad as he pried a little more. “What about before that? Did you go to restaurants with foster parents? Or your mom and dad?”

The blonde shook his head. “No. I never went out. I went to the store a few times when they couldn’t leave me in the car.”

“That’s too bad. Did you pick something to eat?”

He watched as Clint chewed on the inside of his cheek before the boy blurted out. “I don’t know all the words.”

Patiently Bruce read the menu once he found out Clint wanted breakfast. Clint settled on pancakes covered in strawberries and whipped cream. Bruce got him some eggs so he could get some protein in too. 

Too much coffee eventually got to Bruce and he turned to Clint. “I have to go to the bathroom. Do you want to stay here or go with me?”

Clint looked around the room and said he would stay. The blonde wouldn’t mention that he could see the car. 

Bruce handed over his wallet. “Keep an eye on this for me.” He wanted Clint as confident as possible. 

While Bruce was gone Clint eyed up Bruce’s coffee, still steaming on the table beside him. Taking a brief check around he worked up the courage to take a sip. Coffee was always very nice. 

He took another sip, just in time for Bruce to step from around the corner. He put down the coffee and stared back out the window. 

Bruce sat down beside him and gave him a half grin, trying to look stern. “Were you drinking my coffee?”

Clint considered lying, he thought about just ignoring him, but it was really undeniable and it wasn’t that bad. It would give him a good reading on how Bruce reacted when he misbehaved. 

He nodded once, not looking up at Bruce. Bruce sighed and pushed his cup over to Clint, giving him a wide smile. “You can have one cup. One! And you need to ask from now on, okay?”

Clint nodded happily and sipped at his new drink. The waitress brought out Clint’s pancakes; she eyed the whipped cream and strawberry monstrosity and Clint sipping coffee as she laid the plates out. 

Bruce gave her a small grin, “Don’t judge me.”

After they were sated, Bruce took Clint down the street to the local movie theatre. Fortunately with Bruce’s university ID and it being repeat Tuesdays they didn’t break the bank getting movie tickets. Clint wanted to see Flubber. It had been out for a while but Clint sounded excited anyway. The boy proudly took his movie ticket to the man tearing tickets and entered the theater. He immediately turned around and went back to Bruce but he had been brave up until then. 

It suddenly occurred to him that this could be Clint’s first trip to the movies. He casually followed a gaping Clint around the garish theatre, the neon colors and ring of arcade games filling the air. It was quiet this early in the day, just a few couples and some parents with their very young children. 

“Have you been to the movies before?” Bruce asked as Clint gaped at the giant screen hanging overhead. The boy shook his head. 

“Well, then let’s do this right.” Bruce got them sodas and a small bag of popcorn to share. 

They found the theater and Clint picked the seats up near the top, behind the other two groups in the movie theater. 

Bruce whispered to Clint all the while about the scientific inaccuracies, Clint giggled at them, stuffing popcorn in his mouth.

Walking out of the theater Clint was very relaxed despite spending a day in public. “So we can’t make Flubber stuff yet?” 

Bruce shook his head. “Yet. The science just isn’t there. That car was not even remotely possible. It was not modified to fit that level of technology. There was no true steering mechanism, no ability to keep the engine afloat. It would’ve floated vertically if anything… It made very little sense. Weebo is possible. With the web we should be able to connect on an unprecedented level, we’ll be able to have so much information just a few clicks of a keyboard away. Voice activation is on the horizon and with programming we’ll have a super computer that can search, find, and restate information…”

He talked on and on, especially once he noticed Clint hanging on every word. 

The brunette decided to push his luck and took Clint to a quiet mom and pop used bookstore near their grocery store. It would be a familiar area and if Clint became overwhelmed it was a short walk home. Clint quickly found a few old books and read them curled up on a small couch, designed for little kids. 

The stewardess of the store nodded at Bruce and went to Clint’s side. The blonde stiffened but didn’t run, eyeing the woman warily. 

“Hi,” she greeted. “Would you like a cookie to read with? I think I have a few in the back.”

“Why?” Clint asked, guardedly. 

She wasn’t put off. “Because you look like a hungry little boy and any friend of Bruce’s is a friend of mine.”

Clint’s eyes snapped to Bruce. He nodded once and Clint slowly looked back towards the woman. “Okay … please.”

She brought two packaged lemon cookies on a napkin and held them out. Clint looked at Bruce one more time but he was pointedly not looking at Clint as the boy accepted the cookies. 

Rebecca Black wandered over to Bruce. “And who’s this one?” she whispered.

“Clint. My foster kid. He’s in fourth grade… he’s why I haven’t been in in a few months.”

She looked fondly over at the blonde eating cookies. “He’s a bit small. Looks… different than your other kids. How long have you had him?”

“Since October, he’s a great kid. I hope to adopt.” Saying those words for the first time to someone outside of the ‘system’ gave him pause. He was going to adopt. Clint wasn’t going to be his roommate; he’d be his son. 

“That’s great!” she said with a laugh clapping. 

Bruce hushed her with a grin. “Shh, Clint doesn’t know. I want to make sure it’s all going to work out.”

She nodded but still looked very excited, bouncing away, or as much as a sixty-three year old could bounce. 

“Bruce?” Clint questioned, looking up from the book. “What’s this word?” 

They left the bookstore later, when kids started to trickle in for story time at 1:30. He’d asked if Clint wanted to stay to listen but he had pushed his luck far enough and the blonde was in need of a break. They trudged home with fifteen new books at a high discount. 

Clint went straight to the couch and lay down. Bruce pulled the shades, put on a movie, and let Clint relax while he quietly worked on a few new projects. 

Clint sat up after a while and smiled. “Can I write in my journal?”

“Anytime you want, Sprocket. While you do that, I’ll make us a late lunch.” He leaned over and cupped Clint gently around the jaw and kissed the top of his head. He was happy when the boy didn’t freak out, he just patted Bruce’s thigh and gave him a light smile. 

God, he loved that kid.


	6. Coloring Pencils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Bullies

After dinner Clint ran to shower, quickly changing into his pajamas and running back into the room for his hot cocoa. Once more he smoothed the scar cream onto Clint’s back, the boy was a little uncomfortable, the cream made his back itchy, but he allowed it. Hoping the scars would come off. 

“My marks will go away if I do this?” Clint asked, trying to look at his own back. 

Bruce nodded, “Yes. It will also make sure your skin stays elastic, flexible, enough that you can grow.”

“Will it crack if I grow?” Clint asked worriedly.

Bruce laughed. “No, it will just be uncomfortable.”

“The other kids at school think I’m weird… and crazy,” Clint said unexpectedly. 

“They do? Did they tell you that?”

Clint shook his head. “No… a little bit.”

Bruce sighed and patted Clint’s back, turning him around. “I’m sorry. I think you are doing really well and I’m so proud of you.”

~*~

A few mornings later he got a dragging Clint dressed and off to school. He returned home to really dig into his work and he was satisfied with his progress when at two Jena stopped by.

He opened the door on her smiling face. “I was driving in the area and thought you might appreciate this over a phone call and a drive. You are approved to home school, congratulations. The program you picked is impressive.”

He took out the pile of paperwork and smiled as he flipped through it. Good, he needed to get Clint started. 

“The curriculum looked the most intensive and remedial.”

She smiled as she looked around the apartment, touching some of the artwork Bruce had pinned to the wall next to his desk. Clint’s influence had slowly etched its way into the home. The science journals on the table had a few coloring books mixed in; there were coloring pencils in his pencil cup, and picture books next to Hawking and Einstein. 

Clint’s blanket was stuffed into a corner of the couch and there were socks and a sweatshirt on the floor. 

“Sorry,” he said, scrambling to pick up the apartment. 

Jena shook her head. “Please, you know I have three and my house is six times as messy… and I have help. Clint’s settling in well then?”

“Yes, we’re working things out. Still having little issues but he’s really getting a lot better.” 

“I’ve called the school a few times. Seems like there’s been a few incidents but they’ve come down since getting back with you.”

He nodded. “Clint still struggles with a lot of things but he’s getting it together. He’s got such a good heart and he tries so hard.” 

The phone rang and Bruce picked it up. He hung up after a short conversation. 

“Looks like there was an incident,” Bruce muttered. “Want to tag along?”

Jena snagged her jacket and followed him down the stairs. 

**

Clint had gone to Mr. Bryan’s after recess and had participated dutifully over the past week or more. Mr. Bryan hadn’t drawn attention to him or ignored him during the lessons before he was dismissed back to Ms. Gio’s room. He was actually starting to like it. He could understand what the teacher was talking about, now that he didn’t feel so stressed out. 

Mr. Bryan still came by his desk and patiently helped him out when he ran into problems but otherwise left him alone. 

At lunch though he had laid his coloring pencils on a table that he had begun to think of as his. It was only ten feet from his room but it was under the shade of the big tree where he could slip his feet into the grass while he sketched. 

He saw a group of boys slowly migrating to the grass near his spot. He quickly picked up his sketchbook but struggled to scoop up the rolling pencils. 

“Hey… Clint,” one of the boys said with a half smile. Clint got the feeling it was fake. 

Another of the boys picked up his pencils and looked at them, rolling them in his hand. Clint knew he should walk away just take his book and go but those were his only coloring pencils. He couldn’t just leave them. He wouldn’t get any more and Bruce wouldn’t give him any new things. 

“What are you drawing Clint?” one of the boys asked, trying to pry his book from his hands. He took a step back, holding his book firmly. 

“Come on, let us see the book… Hand it over or… I’m breaking all your pencils.” The boys took two of the pencils and broke them in half. 

“No!” Clint screeched, stepping forward to grab them as they were tossed into the grass. He wanted to hit the boys, but he held it in, he knew he wasn’t allowed to hit. He imagined running at the other boys and dragging them to the ground.

The boys seemed to lose interest in his book and took delight in breaking his pencils tossing them in the grass to watch him scramble to grab them. 

“Hey!” Ms. Gio shouted, coming down the hall. 

Mr. Bryan jogged over as the boys tried to disperse. 

“He was going crazy!” the smallest boy said. “He was breaking his own pencils!”

“Really? Really?!” Ms. Gio growled. “You expect me to believe that?”

The kids looked between each other. 

Mr. Bryan guided a still and silent Clint aside. Clint felt like he would puke any moment. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

The boy stayed frozen, holding some of his broken pencils and his notebook. He wanted to run away so badly; he knew Mr. Bryan would catch him before he made it to the fence.

“He’s a retard…” one of the boys said, like that explained his silence. 

“I don’t want to hear those words out of your mouth ever again,” Ms. Gio said. “Mr. Bryan if you can get Clint to the office, I’ll take the boys to the principals after they pick up all these pencils.”

Clint bent down to grab the pencils off the ground and the ones that were still whole on the table. 

Mr. Bryan tried to stop him, “Clint, the other boys will get those for you.” 

Clint kept picking them up; he didn’t want anyone else to touch his stuff. Mr. Bryan waited patiently as he picked them all up. Ms. Gio had taken the other boys away. 

His hands were shaking but he put them all in his hoodie pocket, hoping to tape them together when he got home, before Bruce noticed. He sat down on the bench and stared forlornly at the handful of broken pencils in his hand. 

“What happened Clint?” Mr. Bryan asked again.

“Bruce is going to be so mad,” was the only way he could answer. 

Mr. Bryan shook his head. “No, he won’t. I’ll tell him the other kids broke them.”

“Doesn’t matter. I should’ve stopped them,” Clint said automatically. When the kids had shoved him around in the orphanage, he should’ve punched them and stopped them Barney told him. When the kids threw his backpack at school, Daddy had always told him to be a man. When kids at the circus had spit on him he should’ve made them pay Trickshot had told them. Standing up to them had never worked well for him, but he kept doing it. 

“You did just fine, Clint.” 

“Bruce is going to be so mad,” he repeated. He could feel his emotions spiraling around him, his arms felt tight and his eyes wet. He was going to explode. 

“Your dad will not be mad,” the older man answered. “Just calm down. Don’t overreact.”

Clint shook his head. If he could calm down or stop himself from overreacting he would but it was like trying to swim against a riptide. 

“I want to go home,” he moaned. He wanted the fire escape. He wanted a blanket. And hot cocoa. And the stinky smell of Bruce writing on his whiteboard.

Mr. Bryan tried to talk him out of it but he felt like he was going under the water. “Please, home. I want to go home,” he cried, uncaring who saw him. He just wanted his home.

Adult hands pushed-pulled him into a closed off room. Voices were telling him to calm down but he was having none of it. He felt his body rebel and tried to warn the teachers in front of him but they didn’t move in time and he threw up all over the floor. He stumbled over to the garbage can and threw up again. And again. 

He just wanted to go home.


	7. Sponge

He pushed himself into a corner and closed his eyes, rocking and muttering that he was “okay”, he swatted at any hand that tried to “contain” him. 

He could see it in his head, crayons rolling across the ground, stepped on by his daddy’s work boots, crushing the wax and grinding it into the linoleum. He had heard his dad coming after meeting with his teacher and he had scrambled to hide beneath the table. His crayons, the four precious broken scraps, had been sacrificed in his haste. 

Suddenly he was being yanked out, a hand on the back of his neck pushing him over a shoulder before he was tossed towards his bed. Then it went black.

It might have been a minute or an hour, but it was quiet. He opened his eyes and Bruce was sitting cross-legged in front of him. He launched himself at the older man and held on. 

“You’re okay,” Bruce soothed, rubbing his back. “You’re just fine. Breathe in… and out.”

He focused on the run in Bruce’s sweater. He could almost stick his finger between the knit, he tried to do it; he felt Bruce’s t-shirt beneath the sweater. 

They stayed still for a long time before Clint came back to reality. He snuggled into Bruce’s neck and closed his eyes. “Can I go home?”

“Yes, sounds like you’ve had a rough day.”

Bruce tugged him to his feet but he instantly clung to Bruce again. The older man allowed it, letting Clint wrap his arms around his arm. 

“Say hi to Jena,” Bruce asked. The boy finally noticed the woman standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” Clint said automatically, looking at the woman.

She gave him a fragile smile. “Hi, Clint. I talked to the teachers. It sounds like some of your classmates weren’t nice today.”

Clint shook his head. He fingered the broken pencils left in his pocket; Jena was holding the others in her hand. 

He turned to Bruce and had to resist the urge to curl up in a ball and beg. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. They took them. I should’ve… stopped them but I couldn’t… my pencils are broken.” He felt himself starting to spiral out of control again. 

Bruce’s warm, strong hands stopped it all. “You’re okay. I am not mad. They broke them. Not you. You did just fine.” Clint felt like he could breathe again. 

“I love you, you’re okay,” Bruce told him. He kissed the top of Clint’s head before starting for the exit to the tiny office they were enclosed in. 

Clint felt Bruce tense the second the principal stepped into view. “I’d like to discuss Clint’s side of the story.”

~*~

Bruce didn’t like her tone; she worded it as if Clint was one of the perpetrators and not the victim. “I’ll talk to him. You can listen.”

He turned to Clint without having her answer. He took a seat and made Clint turn and face him, focusing solely on Bruce and Jena. “What was going on, Clint?”

The blonde’s eyes flickered around the room but Bruce coaxed him back to attention. “Don’t worry about them, just me.”

“I was… coloring. They came over to me… and wanted me to show my book. I said no. They took my pencils and broke them. And they broke more and more so that I would give them my book. Then the teachers came. I got them out of the grass as fast as I could.”

Bruce nodded. “You did great.”

Mr. Bryan and Ms. Gio were there and they looked fierce. Clint turned into Bruce’s stomach again. 

“Clint. We are really sorry about those boys,” Mr. Bryan said. 

Ms. Gio spoke up next. “Those boys will have to pay for breaking your pencils and being so cruel to you. I hope you feel better soon.”

Bruce escorted Clint to the car and they waved goodbye to Jena as he pulled away. He drove home and put Clint to bed on the couch. He made chicken for dinner and hoped Clint would sleep until dinnertime. 

The boy came around in time to set places for dinner. He let Clint have chocolate milk with his dinner and pointedly did not mention the incident. He cut up Clint’s chicken. He didn’t even reprimand the boy when he proceeded to eat dinner with his fingers. 

“Have you heard of home school, Clint?”

The boy shook his head, stuffing in another piece of broccoli, sucking bits of it from his fingers.

“It’s school from home. You would have to do all the work you do at school but it’s at home. You still have to go to a class some Wednesdays for some social programs. You will stay home and I will be your teacher. It’s not going to be a playtime though. You will have to learn and do what I say,” Bruce warned. “What do you think?’

Clint was quiet. He looked up at Bruce and gave him a tremulous smile. “No more school?”

“There will be school. They have classes for you to be social at but you won’t have to go to regular school. No more ED class and no more lunchroom. None of that. No playground. It’s going to be very different. In the morning I’ll make you breakfast, we’ll do some work for you. I’ll work on my work. Then I’ll teach you for a little and then let you do some work on your own. Then I’ll teach you some more. We’ll have lunch. You’ll practice some things and then you’ll be done for the day. I’ll be able to start work on time and you’ll have time to work on things you need to work on.”

The boy nodded, bowing his head. His shoulders shook and Bruce was instantly concerned. 

“Are you oaky? Do you want to stay at school? We can do that,” Bruce consoled, though he wasn’t sure how much longer his department head would allow him to have “late” meetings.

“No!” Clint shouted, he looked up and Bruce could see he was crying. He held his arms out and the pre-teen hesitated before stumbling towards him. He leaned into Bruce, his body tense. “No, I want to school at home. The kids are scary and I’m… by myself all the time.”

That concerned Bruce, “Are you lonely? Do you have friends?”

“No. The kids are scary. The ones in the crazy class scratched me and they get mad. The ones in the… normal class hate me… and it’s just… there’s so much… and I don’t want to… to cry… but it’s all…” Clint was starting to fall apart again. This was too much strain for one little boy. 

“Breathe. Breathe,” Bruce coaxed. “It’s all okay. You’re okay.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” Clint heaved, trying to bury himself and pull it together. 

Bruce wished tor Clint’s therapist’s number; he could really use some advice. The youth had had nothing short of a terrible day and he didn’t know what to do. Calm the boy down? Get him to let it out? Have him write? Write what? God. 

He wanted to let the boy express the anger and fear he had bottled up but letting it out probably wouldn’t help. He’d probably cause a total meltdown. He took the only path he could think of and held Clint close until the boy was at peace again. 

~*~

Clint went without fight to school the next morning. He had slept the night through and was ready to face the school. Bruce had made his lunch and watched the boy walk away. He drove straight to the homeschool office across the way and began to gather materials. 

It took a few days but Bruce managed to organize and set up materials for Clint’s first day of homeschool. He put in for Clint’s transfer and kept Clint home the first day. The boy got up, ate breakfast, and went to his new desk, also known as the coffee table in the front room. 

And then Bruce found out what the teachers had been speaking about. Clint wasn’t lazy. He wasn’t dumb. He was a sponge and he was finally getting water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series is by far from over. I have another 40,000 words left. I'm considering doing them out of order because my later story is finished but my middle story is not. Thoughts? Opinions?


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